Mechanical Rose
by WritingPhotographer
Summary: In a land powered by steam and metal, Lyra faces loss and betrayal. Lucian, scarred by the first Mech War wants nothing to do with the world. When fate intertwines their two destinies, how will they face their fears and find love? Steampunk Beauty and the Beast retelling.
1. Chapter 1

So this is my first fan fiction. I'm still not sure how I want it to end up, I just have the beginning of an idea.  
All reviews welcome! Let me know what you think!:)  
Please enjoy!

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Lyra walked along the street, her smog mask covering her nose and mouth. The sound of the mechanics echoed through the grimy alleys, partially muffled by the thick air and overpowered by the delivery drones whirring above. The air was particularly dense and the smog heavy. The mask was barely able to filter the heavy air as she hurried through the cramped, garbage-strewn walkways. The city hadn't had a decent rainstorm for some time, and the state of the city clearly showed it. She looked up, hoping maybe to catch a glimpse of the sun, but only saw the swirling smoke and grime lit dimly by the lanterns flickering above, their flames dancing in the wake of the delivery drones.

Glancing around, she pulled her hood more securely around her face. It wouldn't do to be recognized by someone in the lower district. Her father was one of the wealthiest mech merchants in the city and some of the scumbags half hidden in the corners, covered in filth, wouldn't think twice about shaking her down for a few credits. Hurrying forward she kept a watchful eye, always keeping one hand clutched to the missive in her cloak pocket.

After ascending a few flights of stairs, the ground began to slope up, and the thick grime slowly fell away into a cleaner district. Granted it was far from clean, but the smog was thinner here, more of it having settled into the lowest parts of the city. On a good day, the wind would blow through the merchant's level, clearing the air enough to see the blue sky unlike the lower level where the wind couldn't move through the buildings to blow it away. She'd often envied the wealthier merchants and aristocrats who lived one level above the constant smog.

"Heck, I'd even live on top of the blooming watch tower if it meant not having to wear this blasted mask," she muttered to no one in particular. A man carrying a bag of spare parts walked past her and chuckled under his breath, obviously amused at the overheard sentiment.

Her father claimed that once upon a time, many years ago, when Kilsyth was built there hadn't been such distinct division between the rich and poor. It had started out as a small town, built on the river to power the mills with the mountain at its back. As the years passed, the town had grown and the wealthier merchants became wealthier. Kilsyth became the central hub for trade Tryndling, and soon thereafter, the capital.

The second and third levels were carved from the mountain to accommodate the growing population and the ever increasing flow of merchants, but then the smog settled. With the expansion of mech trade, the smog levels increased, slowly coating the lower levels until filth and smog became a way of life. The occasional rain would clear the city for a day or two, but the smog would ultimately return, creeping back into the city and coating every surface.

Many years later, after the city was ingrained in its ways just as much as the grime was ingrained in its very stones, the Mech Wars began. Lyra had been fifteen when the first war started, that's when the watchtower was built. A massive structure running through the core of all three levels and rising high above, it housed the most impressive mechanics from all around the world.

Powered through wind turbines and water wheels, its mounted cannons were enough to deter serious threats. At the base, the tower housed the city's mech engineers, a lowly bunch of grimy men who usually kept to themselves. The mid-section housed the city militia while the third layer trained and housed the pompous noble guard.

The highest section rose majestically from the city, served as the watchtower. A giant bell hung in its rafters, similar to the ones in church, but much bigger. Much louder. The sound of that bell would always ring in her ears. The first time it had chimed, she had nearly lost her life to the firestorm the Draken airships rained upon Kilsyth.

"Miss, are you lost? Do ya need directions?"

A kind voice snapped her attention back to the present. Pulling her eyes away from the watchtower, she smiled kindly, "No thank you, I was merely caught in memory."

The old woman nodded as she glanced towards the tower. "Aye, there are many memories tied with that tower. I pray the Draken airships don't come this far again." The woman's wrinkled face turned back to her, "I don't think the city could take that again, nor its people."

Lyra smiled sadly as she laid her hand on the woman's shoulder. "The border guard will stop them long before they get here. Tryndling is much stronger, and this time we do not stand alone." Idly she fingered the missive in her pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Maggie, their housekeeper, greeted her as she walked in the door, welcoming her into the warm, well-kept house. "Miss Lyra! Welcome back. Your father is expecting you in his study; your sisters are already there." She held her hands out, "Here, let me take that cloak for you, and your mask. I'll tuck them away." Maggie unbuttoned the cloak and lifted it from Lyra's shoulders.

Thankfully, Lyra removed her mask, breathing deeply. "Thank you Maggie, the smog is terrible today. We really need that rain storm."

"Aye. that we do. But you know it's not as bad up here, you should stay out of the lower level. We wouldn't want you getting lost." Her voice was kind and Lyra could see the concern in her eyes.

Leaning down, she slipped her hand into the cloak pocket and snatched the missive then kissed Maggie's wrinkled cheek, "Don't worry about me. I always take care to know where I am. Now, you said Papa wanted me in the study?" Maggie's eyes narrowed, knowing that Lyra was sidestepping her unasked questions yet again. Lyra was sorry for keeping her in the dark, but the missive in her hand, her business was much too valuable. If the wrong person ever found out...

"Lyra darling! Won't you join us?" Her eldest sister Ashelle's sickly sweet voice came from above. Her voluptuous sister was draped across the banister in her usual lazy way. Lyra had never seen Ashelle completely poised unless she was outside in the public eye, which rarely happened. Usually the blonde lounged around, nagging Maggie, degrading Lyra, or listing pricy goods for Papa to buy on his travels. Of her two sisters, Ashelle was her least favorite, and Ashelle knew it.

"I'm coming now." Casting a quick smile at Maggie, she hurried towards the stairs and climbed quickly. She barely heard Ashelle's "hmmmph" as she flounced back into the study, her skirt's swaying.

When she entered the study, her father looked up from the paperwork scattered on his desk. Her second sister barely spared her a glance before returning her attention to her nails. Ashelle was draped once more over the leather settee, leaving no room for Lyra to sit.

"Now girls, seeing that you're all finally here..." began her father.

"Ugh, if Lyra hadn't been running around those grimy streets this would have been finished by now." Complained Ashelle.

"...we can discuss finances. As you all know, Drakona has been invading the border, and as a result we've lost some of our trade lines to the military. This will probably be my last trip to the edge of the country for some time. Now is the time to make any last requests for new gowns, parasols, jewelry, or whatever silly finery you want."

"But father," exclaimed Ashelle, "what about the annual ball? We can't order dresses NOW!"

"They'll be out of fashion, so last season. We'll be the laughing stock of the city!" declared Harriet, finally speaking up.

"Enough!" Mercer held up his hand. "Tell me what you want, but do not ask the impossible. Pray that this invasion ends sooner rather than later." The worry lines etched into her father's face concerned Lyra. Normally he wasn't so short with her sisters.

She spent the next half hour propped against the door, listening to her sisters argue about fabrics, trims, beads, and all sorts of senseless items. Finally, when they each finished, they had three papers of requests between them.

"Well if this is the last time you're going, we have to get everything we need!" said Ashelle in response to Papa's raised eyebrow. "Surely you don't expect us to dress as peasants for the next few months!"

In a tired voice, accented by the weary shake of his head, he reassured his two daughters, "Of course not my dears. I shall do my best to bring you the finest."

Without so much as a thank you, Ashelle and Harriet left the room, still quietly bickering over which fabrics they requested.

"And you Lyra? What can I bring back for you?" Her father said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

Striding forward, she pulled a chair closer to the large desk and sat. "How bad is it father? How many of your trade lines have we lost?"

A sad smile crossed his face, "You know me best. Just like your mother you are." He pushed aside a few loose papers, revealing a map. "These two green lines, they are the only ones that remain open. The Draken have closed in faster than the king is willing to admit."

Lyra looked in shock at the twenty or so red lines running across the map, then back to the green ones. "How will you afford Ashelle and Harriet's demands? Surely those trade lines can't support that expense?" Quickly, she looked up to her father. His face was harrowed with anxiety.

"I don't know. I was hoping you could bring me good news."

"I haven't opened it yet." She hesitated before placing the missive on the desk. What if it didn't contain good news? What would they do then?

Her father slowly took the missive, breaking the seal carefully before reading it. "It would seem that our contacts don't have any good news for us. The Draken have successfully blockaded all merchant shipments, and they are moving to immobilize the rest. Tryndling will be landlocked...I doubt others will come to our aid this time."

Silence fell between them. If Drakona succeeded in cutting of Tryndling, it wouldn't be a war; it would be a slow and painful siege.

"A rose." Lyra said, breaking the trepid silence. Her father looked up in confusion. "Bring be back a rose."


End file.
